


Dr. Matthews to the Rescue

by justwantedtodance



Category: The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Emma's sick and incredibly stubborn, F/M, Fever Dreams, Fluff, Post-Apotheosis (The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals), Sickfic, TW: Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:14:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22103908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justwantedtodance/pseuds/justwantedtodance
Summary: Paul knows a thing or two about how to care for someone who’s sick, especially someone who doesn’t want to believe it. See Exhibit A: Emma Perkins, who’s exhibiting every textbook symptom of the flu that she continually contributes to other things.
Relationships: Paul Matthews/Emma Perkins
Comments: 10
Kudos: 63





	Dr. Matthews to the Rescue

**Author's Note:**

> Yay for sickfic! I know there's a ton here already, but I thought I'd put my two cents in.
> 
> Also, if you don't like people throwing up, there's a mention of it in here, so just be mindful.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy some fluff!

He recognizes the signs of sickness before she can even acknowledge something’s wrong.

One too many days taking care of a sick child to adolescent to pre-teen certainly helps Paul know when something’s the matter. He’s stayed home with Alice when Bill couldn’t take any more time off of work, so Paul knows a thing or two about how to care for someone who’s sick, especially someone who doesn’t want to believe it.

See Exhibit A: Emma Perkins, who’s exhibiting every textbook symptom of the flu that she continually contributes to other things.

The cough? Some dude smoking outside carried it into the shop with him. The sniffles? Allergies. Fatigue? “You try working full-time and attending community college.” Waking up in a sweat? “It’s because you keep it too damn hot in this house, Paul!”

Always an excuse for everything.

Being attuned to these things comes in handy when he hears his girlfriend’s midnight sniffles, the cough she tries to hide behind swallowing the wrong way, and the distinct pallor of her skin when he drops by for his midday coffee. By that point, he’s not buying her excuses anymore.

“You feeling okay, Em?”

“I’m fine,” she says weakly, already working on his coffee before he can retrieve the money to pay her.

“You sure? You don’t look great.” Emma looks up at him sharply, and he’s quick to rectify the predicament he’s placed himself in. “No, wait, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean like that. You always look great, babe. Like, more than great. Uh, what I meant was you look sick, Emma.”

She sighs, placing a coffee sleeve over Paul’s cup. “I’m fine, Paul, I swear. It’s just a little sniffle, no big deal. Trust me, I’ve worked through worse.”

“I know you have, I just wanted to check on you. If it gets any worse, you can call me, and I’ll drive you home.”

“That’s very sweet, babe, but I promise, I’m okay. If I need to leave, I will, ‘kay?”

Paul leans over and kisses her cheek. “Okay. Have a good rest of your shift.”

The rest of her shift doesn’t last very long. Nora sends her home after she barely deflects her sneeze away from a customer’s hot chocolate and heating up a ham and cheese croissant nearly gets served with her vomit as a topping. As much as she hates being understaffed, she’d rather retain business than risk violating any health codes and having to shut down.

Paul slides his key in the door a little after 5:30 and expects to come home to an empty apartment, so he goes into the bedroom to shrug off his jacket and tie before making dinner, but there’s a small sleeping _someone_ occupying the bed that catches his attention.

“Emma? What are you doing here? You weren’t supposed to be off until 6:00.”

From her fetal position, she rests her head on her forearm barely poking her head up at Paul. “Nora sent me home. Almost threw up on somebody’s sandwich, just about sneezed in that nerd’s hot chocolate. Kinda wish I would have. I didn’t wanna go, but she made me.”

“Because you’re sick, honey.” Paul carefully sits on the edge of the bed and tries not to rattle her.

“No, ‘m not. Just didn’t like the smell of that ham. Be glad you don’t eat any of our shitty food.”

He chuckles and smooths her hair with his hand. “Can I get you anything? Water, another blanket, soup...” Emma’s face contorts, and she moans, rolling away from him. Paul lies on his side and tries to scoot closer to Emma to cuddle her. “Hey, I’m sorry. I know it’s frustrating to be sick—“

“Paul, move—“

“Okay, okay, sorry—“ Paul backs away from her but lifts the covers over Emma’s shaking body.

“No, Paul, I’m gonna be sick.”

She throws the covers off and runs to the bathroom with her hand over her mouth. Paul works his way out of bed when he hears Emma throwing up and follows her inside to check on her. His poor girl, and she’s convinced she isn’t sick too.

Emma’s coughs eventually subside as she spits up the last of her stomach contents and wipes the tears from her eyes. All the while, Paul kneels down and rubs her back and shoulders with one hand while the other holds her hair back from her face.

“It’s alright, Emma. You’re okay, just breathe. Shhh, you’re gonna be fine.”

Emma scrubs her hands over her face and leans back in his arms. “Sorry, Paul.”

“Don’t apologize.” He kisses the top of her head, and his heart sinks a little when Emma turns her face into his chest, staining his shirt with her tears. “Oh, Emma, I’m so sorry.”

“I just hate this,” she mumbles.

“I know.”

“And I hate that you feel like you have to take care of me now because I’m fucking sick, and—“

“I love taking care of you, Em.” Paul rubs his hand over her forehead and winces a little. “Feels like you have a fever. Are you okay to go back to bed, or do you wanna stay here for a bit?”

Emma hugs him weakly and shifts closer to him. “Think I’m good for now. Can we go to bed?”

“Of course.” He stands up first and reaches for Emma’s hands to help her up. “Can you walk?”

Emma nods and links her fingers with Paul’s as she stands, but unfortunately, her shaky legs betray her when she takes a step, and she nearly collapses. Paul is thankfully there to catch her and scoops her up bridal style without hesitation. She doesn’t fight him when he lifts her up, resting her head in the space between his neck and shoulders.

He sits her down on the bed and helps her slide under the covers to keep the chills away. Emma curls in on herself once more, so Paul cautiously touches her shoulder.

“I’ll be making dinner if you need me.” Paul kisses her head before he gets off of the bed to leave the room.

“Hey, Paul?” Emma’s meek voice pulls him back. “Can you stay with me?”

He joins her under the blankets and gently brings her into his chest, spooning her from behind. Dinner could wait.

On the precipice of sleep about an hour later, Paul stirs when he hears Emma whimper in her sleep. She’s fighting some imaginary thing as she tosses and turns in the sheets. Paul, concerned, reaches across the bed to touch her, maybe gently wake her up, when he feels the sweat dousing her body. Her fever must be breaking.

Amid her sleep, Emma’s back in the Starlight fighting her way through the Infected as they sing to her to join them or die. If she joins them, she imagines it would be worse than death. She’d rather die fighting than succumb to that musical infection.

And then Emma sees him. Paul. His eyes glowing as he makes his way towards her. The chorus of voices becomes but a hum as he takes center stage and invites her in with a sweet solo song. He makes it sound so loving, so seductive, unlike the deaths she’s witnessed before.

“Don’t you hear the music, Emma,” he says. “You could be happy here with us. With me. Don’t you want to be happy?”

He looks so much like Paul but is everything he isn’t. Emma’s leg gives out from the stress of running for far too long, and she stumbles away from Paul, though it gets her nowhere except cornered with no foreseeable escape.

Suddenly, his hands are all over her, caressing her, playing scales and arpeggios up and down her arms. He’s singing her name again and again. She tries to scream, but no sound will leave her throat, and any sound she makes would be deafened by the Hive growing louder as they draw nearer to their new queen. It crescendos violently, and then—

It stops.

Her eyes snap open.

“... Emma? Emma, hey. You’re okay, Emma. You’re just dreaming. Shhh, it’s okay. Just breathe.”

“Paul?”

“Yeah, baby, it’s just me.”

Some of her hair sticks to her forehead while the rest plops in a tangled pile against the pillow. She takes a minute to sit up and look at him before she’s out of bed, a frantic mess, dashing for the bathroom to spill her guts again. Of course, nothing of substance comes up, but she does attempt to rid her body of whatever toxin threatens to eat her alive.

Paul gets up slower this time to check on her, knocking on the door before he enters. He knows how she can be after nightmares. The first few months after the apotheosis, she couldn’t look at him after a nightmare, too frightened of the possibility that he could be infected. He ended up sleeping across the apartment for a while just to give her peace of mind.

Until one night, she asked him to stay, and he accepted without a second thought. He held her while she cried, the first time she had the courage to do so in months, and promised her from then on to protect her. Ever since, the nightmares have reduced in frequency and severity, and Paul’s been there every time to help calm her back into sleep.

It’s been almost a year since the meteor struck the Starlight, and anyone affected by the infection has since been cured thanks to PEIP’s valiant, expedited effort to save Hatchetfield from extinction. There’s no chance of it coming back to claim anyone, but the scars it left on Hatchetfield’s residents won’t quickly fade.

Paul takes Emma’s silence as a cue to enter and carefully kneels beside her a safe distance away so he won’t startle her. She’s slumped over the toilet bowl with her head in her hands trying to slow her breathing. Paul places one hand on her shoulder and guides her to breathe in time with him while reassuring her that she’s safe, and any unpleasant thoughts she had were just dreams.

She quiets down soon after and lets Paul fold her into a hug that soon becomes him rocking her in his lap.

“Was it really just a dream, Paul?” Her throat is scratchy, but she manages to croak out the question.

“Yeah, it was just a dream.” He takes a beat before venturing to talk about it further. “First bad one you’ve had in a while, but I think the fever made it worse.”

Emma nods and hugs him tighter. “Ugh, I feel gross.”

“I’m sure you do. You wanna take a shower or something?” Emma points to her leg, and Paul registers that it must be bothering her. “Right, gotcha. Hey, can I move you just for a second?”

She nods and slides off of his lap to sit with her back against the bathtub. Paul stands up, wetting a washcloth in the sink with cool water to help Emma’s temperature come down. He sits back down next to her and holds the damp cloth to her forehead and cheeks.

“Feel good,” he asks. Emma closes her eyes and nods, leaning her head on Paul’s shoulder. “Good, I’m glad. I’m gonna get you some medicine to see if we can bring that fever down too, okay?” Too tired to do anything else, she nods again and leans back against the tub holding the washcloth to her forehead like Paul told her to while he gets her medicine.

Back in bed, Emma swallows the two fever reducers he gives her and leans into him as he brackets her shoulders with one of his arms. “No, my hair is disgusting,” she complains as he runs his fingers through it and twirls the ends around his fingers.

Paul doesn’t mind, though. He smiles a little and keeps comforting Emma. He doesn’t say anything for a moment but then suddenly gets an idea. “Hey, I could... braid it for you? If you want.”

Emma looks up at him in shock. “You know how to braid hair?”

“I’m no expert, but I got a decent amount of practice with babysitting Alice,” he admits, shrugging with humility.

“And why have I not known about this secret talent before now, Paul Matthews?”

Paul stammers. “Uhhh, well, I mean, you hadn’t asked, and I didn’t know if you’d like that or not—“

“Oh, buddy, that would have been nice to know ages ago. Girls go feral for that shit, myself included.” He laughs nervously, and Emma turns around expectantly, presenting her hair to him. “Alright, show me those skills, Matthews.”

“Okay. Do you have a hair tie and a brush?” Emma nods and passes them over from her bedside table.

He starts gently brushing through her hair, working the knots closest to the bottom out first and apologizing for each one he finds and untangles. Eventually, he brushes each strand with love and care and sections off the top piece of her hair to start the braid.

In Alice’s elementary school days, braids were all the rage. Girls would come in with eccentric styles of braids woven through their hair, and while Paul’s weren’t anything novel or exciting, he practiced enough to be able to cleanly braid Alice’s hair and made sure it wouldn’t slip out when she played at recess or soccer practice.

Each time his fingers pick up a new piece of hair, Emma’s spine tingles in the best way and thinks she might fall back asleep sitting up if Paul continues. He works each new section into place but keeps it a bit looser so it’s more comfortable for Emma to sleep in. He hears the content purrs coming from her mouth and knows he’s done something right. Emma relaxes and lets the tension escape her body as Paul plaits her hair.

He finishes it off with the hair tie at the bottom of the braid and kisses the side of her head, pulling her back against his chest.

“Better now?”

Emma nods and smiles, nuzzling into him. Good lord, she wasn’t kidding when she said she loved it, he thinks. She’s practically feline right now. Not that he minds.

She lies back down but faces Paul this time, snuggling into his chest as she shuts her eyes. Before she can fall back asleep, Emma taps his chest.

“Hey, thanks for taking care of me. I know it’s not always an easy task.”

“You don’t say,” Paul teases. Emma punches his chest with an eye roll. “I’m joking. I’m always happy to help as long as you’ll let me. I love you, Emma.”

“I love you too, you dork.” He kisses her head, and she returns one to his chest where she punched him moments ago.

He doesn’t feel bad about taking off of work the next day when Emma writes him a Post-It note that says: “Prescription for Emma Perkins includes water, potato soup, and 1000 mg of TLC from Paul.”

Well, Dr. Matthews to the rescue.


End file.
